The Man.
Yes, that is true, my wife. He was a nice-looking young man—a very nice-looking young man, and had such a distinguished face. I am glad to have been reminded of his bow that day. Well, I am almost bowing myself now; yes, bowing to sleep, for I am quite worn out. Yes, I am growing old, my little greyheaded wife. Do you not notice it?
His Wife.
No, you are as handsome as ever.
The Man.
But are not my eyes just a little less bright than they used to be?
His Wife.
No. They flash as brilliantly as ever they did.
The Man.
And my hair—is it as jet-black as before?